Petty Injuries

Really, I do hate to complain. As you age and get together with friends, the conversation invariably turns to health. Such a bore. I have a friend who announces: five minutes on health issues and we're done for the evening. Impressive, as she has more problems than most. Anyway, we stick to her edict, pretty much.

So that leaves me with this blog. Who else am I going to complain to? My kids? They are aware and certainly loving, but busy, busy. My ex? Well, he's a good guy and called when he heard, but still. It's such a minor thing and as I look around at my friends, there are so many serious problems...cancer, heart...the list goes on. So I'll dump my petty injury complaints right here. On you.

It all started in December on St. Lucia. We've been going for 20 years or more and have become friends with the owners of Anse Chastanet. I've written about it several times, but the post most pertinent is HERE, if you care to read it. You won't be surprised to hear I am now the owner of a torn meniscus and if you've read the above, you'll understand. When my youngest son (now 54, ye Gods) suggested he would worry about me on those steps, I was insulted. Me? The workout queen?
I tell you, it's not the going up, it's the going down. I commented to my daughter: I think I'm getting arthritis in my knee. And then thought not another thing about it, proud of myself for going up and down that damn mountain several times a day without having to notify St. Lucian EMS...even if there was such a thing.

So a couple months pass. I'm back on schedule. The knee is annoying, but tolerable. Still thinking arthritis, I ignore it with an Advil or two. Then one day at the gym...pain strikes. Can't walk kind of pain.

I think it's a torn meniscus, says the doctor, nothing is showing in the xray. Let's try the conservative method first. (Which is no more aerobic workouts, no long walks, ice and elevate.) During this time, I suffered painfully through a trip with grandkids to Atlantis. If you've ever been there, you'll know....walk, slide and swim...ouch. Couldn't do it. My DIL actually said: how about a wheelchair? What?! What did she say???? Uh, uh. No way.
So when they left for Michigan, back to the doctor. My life is over, I said. I'm aging just sitting here. I feel it creeping up on me...my DIL suggested a wheelchair. He laughed. Let's try a cortisone shot, he said.
Well, that struck fear in my memory, of an old tennis elbow problem and the shot that followed. Agonizing. A couple close friends had also warned me: cortisone is next for your knee, be prepared. I broke out in a sweat just thinking about it.
I'd worked myself up into such a fervor about the stupid shot that I was amazed how simple it was and damn near painless. It was over before I knew it.
So here I am, a week later. Some improvement, but any kind of torque on that knee is not good. There's a trip to Savannah next week. Lots of walking. On cobblestones. Please, just let me get through that, then I'll face the eventual music: an MRI and some outpatient surgery. Not too bad as I understand it, but I'll keep you apprised.
You won't mind my petty complaining.
Right?